I handed over my ID, mortgage statement, and receipts for half the things in sight. "Everything's mine. They showed up uninvited, tried to enter through the back." The cop turned to Landon. "Is that true?"
He tried to spin it, mumbling about misunderstandings, but the other officer pointed at the security camera on the porch. "Sir, we can pull footage. Want us to?" That shut him up. They checked my footage right there on my phone, clear as day, one of his buddies jiggling the back door handle.
The officer radioed something in, then turned to me. "Do you want to press charges for attempted break-in?" I looked at Landon, who was already pale. "Yes." One friend got cuffed on the spot.
The other two got citations and strict trespass warnings. The officers told them if they came back, they'd go straight to jail. Landon started yelling about lawyers, but the cops told him to calm down or they'd add disorderly conduct to the list. He shut up fast. Before he left, he turned to me.
"You're going to regret this. She's suing you for everything."
I just smiled. "Can't wait. I'll bring popcorn." The patrol car pulled away, taking his friend with it. I stood there under the porch light, watching the whole circus fade into the dark.
Once they were gone, I filed a full report and emailed the security footage to my lawyer, just in case. By midnight, word had already started spreading. A mutual friend texted, "Did Landon really try to break into your house?" I sent back, "Yep. Cameras don't lie."
She replied with a single line that summed up the entire week. "Guess karma's faster than Wi-Fi."
That line was still echoing in my head when my phone buzzed again the next morning. Unknown number. "Patrick?" A woman's voice said. "This is Doris, Minerva's mother."
Of course it was. "I need to hear your side," she said, voice tight and formal. "Minerva's devastated. She says you humiliated her and called the police for no reason." "Sure," I said. "You free to meet?"
That caught her off guard. "You actually want to talk?" "Why not? Bring an open mind. I'll bring proof."
We met at a cafe downtown that afternoon. She was already there, sitting stiffly with her hands wrapped around a mug she hadn't touched. The second she saw me, she tried a polite smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you for coming," she said. "No problem."
I put a folder on the table. "I brought receipts." Her eyebrows twitched. "Receipts?" I opened the folder and slid a few papers across. "Mortgage statements, utility bills, bank transfers."
Then screenshots of texts from Minerva asking for money, saying she loved me, sending heart emojis, dated four days before the announcement. Doris scanned them, lips pressing tighter every second. "She told us you two were separated," she muttered, "said that you'd been controlling and unstable." "Right," I said. "Apparently I'm so unstable I still paid her bills and cooked dinner the night she announced she was engaged."
"She said you abused her emotionally," she whispered, almost to herself. "Ask the cops who were here that night," I said calmly. "They told her to leave after she admitted she was engaged to another guy."
I didn't even raise my voice. For a long minute, she didn't speak. Then she sighed and set the papers down. "I knew she was lying about something. She's always been like this, since she was a teenager. She lies when she's scared or when she wants something."
I didn't answer, just let her talk. "When she was 16," Doris continued, "she dated two boys at once, told each one the other was her cousin. We grounded her for a week, and she cried until her father gave in. He always gave in. We both did."
She rubbed her temples. "We made her believe she could twist reality and people would adjust." I stayed quiet. There wasn't anything to add. Finally, she reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope.
"This is from her father and me," she said, sliding it across the table. "$5,000. It's not everything she cost you, but consider it an apology."
I looked at it but didn't touch it. "You don't have to do that." "I do," she said. "We raised her. We let her think this behavior was acceptable. We need to take responsibility for it."
After a moment, I took the envelope and tucked it under the folder. "Thank you." She looked relieved, then leaned forward. "Between us, Landon's already having doubts. He came by the house last night, yelling about her draining his account. Apparently, she keeps asking him to pay for a new apartment.
He didn't know she had nowhere to go until she called from the police station about the car."
I almost smiled. "So, he's realizing she's a freeloader?" "She's a handful," Doris admitted. "He looked like a ghost, said she spends more time on Instagram than job hunting." "That sounds about right," I said.
Doris finally took a sip of her coffee, staring at me over the rim. "You're very calm about all this." "I'm done with the circus," I said. "I just want peace and my car back." That earned a quiet laugh, the first real one from her.
"You remind me of my husband. He's furious at her, but trying to handle it quietly. I think seeing her crash might be what finally wakes him up, too." "Maybe," I said. "Or maybe she'll find someone else to pay her way before that."
"She doesn't realize she's destroying herself," she said quietly. "She'll blame everyone else when it's done," I replied.
Doris nodded. Then she gathered her purse and stood. "Thank you for meeting me, Patrick. You didn't deserve this." "No one does," I said, standing, too.
She hesitated, then put a hand on my arm. "You know, if you ever want to send her the message that she can't use people anymore, don't argue with her, just succeed. That's the one thing she can't handle." I smiled. "Already working on it."
When she left, I sat there for a few more minutes, staring at the folder. I didn't need the money, but the gesture mattered. It meant someone in that family finally saw the truth. For the first time since this whole mess started, I felt something close to satisfaction. Not revenge, just confirmation that I wasn't crazy for drawing the line.
Minerva had fooled everyone for years. Now, one by one they were waking up. And the best part? I didn't have to lift a finger.
Three quiet weeks went by. No yelling, no drama, no late-night door knocking. I was starting to forget what it felt like to constantly brace for chaos. Then, on a random Thursday morning, my phone buzzed again. Billy.
I hesitated before answering. Last time she called it was an apology. This time she sounded exhausted. "Patrick, she's living with me now," she said right away. "And I'm losing my mind."
I almost laughed. "What happened to Landon's big love story?" "He still visits, but barely. She won't leave the couch. I get home from work and she's sitting there in pajamas talking to her followers about her healing journey. She keeps saying she's rebuilding after narcissistic abuse."
I raised an eyebrow. "She actually says that?" "Every day," Billy groaned. "She filmed a video crying because she said I don't support her growth. Meanwhile, I'm paying her share of groceries and she refuses to look for a job."
I leaned back in my chair. "Sounds familiar." "She told me last night that Landon's going through financial stress and can't help her right now, which I think means he stopped sending her money." "Good for him," I said. "Reality's hitting the fan."